A Madman In A League Of His Own

t was Bill’s watch, and seas were bad, at least 30 feet and very heavy. but the men were alive. Cold, exhausted and battling seasickness — Suddenly a real bad one roared down on us from the port side and but desperate for calories — they had to repair themselves first with crashed in. Roaring right over us, it rolled us over. I had a fleeting a tin of self-heating soup and some ham they found rattling around memory of being thrown clean out of the stern, seeing Bill going under under the floorboards. Then they jury-rigged their ride by shorten- Ime, then the boat coming down on me. Down I went into the green depths ing the two pieces of mast and lashing them together so they could with tremendous weight driving me downwards. More panic — down, carry on under jib. down! Needing to breathe, I choked and began to drown. Dye celebrated in style: He brushed his teeth. Brockbank, who suf- fered most from mal de mer and lost 18 pounds during the voyage, These are the words of Frank Dye, remembering a trip that retraced grinned and filmed. The true test of will came when a ship passed part of a Viking sea route and that he nonchalantly called a “sum- nearby and failed to notice the flares they’d fired. mer cruise.” It was Tuesday, July 28, 1964, “For Brockbank it was a pisser. Not a somewhere between the Faroe Islands and crash moment, but an oh, f*** moment,” the coast of Norway. Wanderer, an open as The Guardian wrote to commemorate 16-foot Wayfarer dinghy — built of ply- the 50th anniversary of this trip. wood for racing and inshore daysailing, Later, a trawler came even closer to in- but modestly modified for long-distance spect this odd little broken boat in the touring — was battling a gale that bore middle of the ocean. Brockbank was on down at Force 9 (41 to 47 knots on the his off-watch, lying under a piece of can- Beaufort scale). She was hove-to, with the vas in the cockpit, shivering. “I could see mast down and a canvas cover tied across the helmsman looking at us intently, but I the cockpit to protect her crew. When the pretended not to see him, and after some world inverted, that shelter instantly be- hesitation the ship steamed off,” Dye came a potential death trap. wrote in his book Ocean Crossing Wayfarer. The situation was dire after the third cap- “I was not sure about Bill’s reaction, but I size that night. In between, Wanderer’s re- did not want to be rescued now.” doubtable skipper and his intrepid crew, Bill Brockbank, treaded 50-degree water Out of a Pickle by Your Wits that could kill an adult through expo- Dye quoted a fellow sailor to explain sure in short order. Time and again they his thinking: “The sea has no favorites, scrambled to right the boat and get back and if you get into trouble, you must be on board before the next breaker rolled prepared to get yourself out of it by your over and swamped them. own efforts.” His mantra: Don’t make The lowered mast, tied to a crutch, lay others risk their lives to save yours. Frank Dye was an expert navigator, a must-have skill in splinters. Essential tools had washed Hence, Wanderer’s radio had no transmis- when sailing a 16-foot dinghy far offshore. overboard, along with most of their food. sion capability. Using a fish bucket and a plastic potty, A stocky guy with thick Buddy Holly they bailed like crazy to stay afloat, tethered to a makeshift drogue glasses, Dye was a Ford dealer in Watton, England. He was 30 they fashioned from different bits, including their mainsail. To when he started sailing in 1958, but he’d built a daredevil reputa- point the bow into the monster seas, one man had to stay on deck tion for adventure, which included coastal trips in England, Wales and yank on the warps. It was a fight against nature’s fury and a and Scotland, and voyages in Germany, Sweden and Denmark. struggle for survival. Trips across the North Sea to Iceland and Norway burnished his They capsized one more time but made it through this night of status as a dinghy hero. They earned him cult status with some; horrors. By dawn the storm had “abated” to Force 8, which felt like others thought he was a crackpot who took undue risks. “Madman a breeze compared to what they’d seen. Seas still were awe-inspiring, of the Atlantic” was the moniker his wife, Margaret, remembered. Bill Brockbank was Dye’s crewmember She crewed on many Wanderer excur- when the pair tangled with a Force 9 sions, ignoring the warnings: Do not gale on the Norwegian Sea. sail with that man. He’ll kill you. Despite capsizes, broken masts and crewmembers falling overboard, neither Dye nor his mates came to harm. He was daring, for sure, but he did not take stupid gambles. He knew that the devil lurked in the de- tails, so he took meticulous care of his boat and gear. He studied almanacs, weather reports, storm probabilities and sea temperatures to gauge sur- vival times. He worked out food and water rations and the procedure of reefing sails that had no furling gear. He carried expedition gear and hav- ersacks of food, including self-heating tins of soup, cartons of eggs, lifeboat biscuits and dehydrated meals. He also built a gimbaling petrol stove that could heat mess tins underway. There was a jug of whiskey on board as a gift or, if necessary, a barter chip. “His medical kit included enough morphine to knock out a horse, as there was always a chance he’d Small Boat, Big Adventure need to amputate a limb at sea,” The Guardian explained. This trip bears comparison to Ernest Shackleton’s 1916 crossing of the Southern Ocean in a lifeboat to get help for his marooned men. Daring but not Foolhardy But Shackleton had professional crewmen; Dye and his companions In many sailing pictures, Dye looks chubby. That’s because before — among them a lay preacher, a gym teacher, a schoolmate and an the age of wicking layers, fleece and breathable outer fabrics, sailors American serviceman — were rank amateurs who took vacation time wore multiple layers of clothing to keep warm and dry(ish). By to- to go on their seafaring adventures. Sometimes transportation to and day’s standards, oilskin overalls, corduroy trousers, cotton jerseys, from the sailing venues required the crew to hitchhike, or take a bus wool pullovers and Wellingtons are ridiculous for offshore sailing, and train. Friends helped Dye trailer Wanderer to the starting points but circa 1960 that’s all there was. Dye and his crews always brought of his voyages and provision the boat. a truckload of extra clothing in plastic bags to add layers against the He once shipped Margaret and Wanderer to Norway on a freight- bitter cold of the high latitudes or to replace garments that had gotten er and followed after finishing up business duties, then cruised too damp and cold with condensation and perspiration. Gosh, how to the Lofoten Islands with her. Another time, Wanderer and crew ripe they must have been when they removed their clothing. were lowered from the deck of a cargo ship. Once in the water, Dye’s skill set was deep and included precise navigation with im- they stepped the mast, made sail and headed home, waving to the precise tools. He would get a noon fix with the sextant on a tiny boat ship’s crew, who stood at the rail shouting lykke til — “good luck” that danced wildly in the ocean swells, then sit on the stern to work in Norwegian. out the position on a soggy chart. He did carry a radio direction- Wanderer today hangs from the rafters at the National Maritime finding kit, which helped (if it worked, that is). He also had a sixth Museum in Cornwall, England, a quiet witness to the courage of her sense for the elements, estimating drift with reasonable accuracy, owner and the daring voyages of a time long gone. Dye, who died an important factor when navigating by dead reckoning without in 2010 at age 82, remained faithful to the dinghy all his life, never landmarks. Perhaps most important was his talent to effect repairs wanting to sail anything else. He chose that Ian Proctor design with on the fly, even without a deep tool chest. He fixed a broken trailer purpose; it looked right to him and proved to be forgiving and pre- with a few branches from the side of the road, and he used splints to dictable, even under extreme circumstances. rebuild Wanderer’s fractured wooden mast. All he needed was a saw “The Norwegian Sea should have been easier,” was the laconic and line for lashings. conclusion of his narrative about that “summer cruise” of 1964. Dye’s After being pushed to the brink by that gale, Dye and Brockbank grainy, scratchy amateur film by the same name became a cult classic caught a break in the weather and limped to Norway. When they among dinghy sailors. “It was unfortunate that the one year that we tied up in the port of Ålesund, they had completed one of the scari- chose … was the worst in over a century and included two Force 9s est, craziest and most daring sea voyages undertaken in such a small — and we caught one of them.” sailboat. The crew of a workboat towed them in and asked if they The next time you zip up your high-tech foulies, stow your had crossed the Norwegian Sea in that nutshell. “Ya,” Dye replied, PowerBars and energy drinks, and check your AIS, VHF and GPS, to which they said, “You are madmans.” Dye didn’t dispute that, pause for a moment to contemplate this man, his mates, his boat and he headed to church. and his travels. n